People Never Change
by InfamouslyInfatuated
Summary: My 4th House/Cuddy fic. More rambling. More OOC. No actual plotline. Not that you'd expect anything different. :P


"Eeny, meeny, miney, moe. Catch a tiger by its toe. If he hollers let him…OUCH!" Her fingers latch around your arm and you yelp as if a falcon were perched there. "Jeez, Cuddy! You're the one that came here with _those_ all out and proud." Clearly, she's annoyed, just the way you like her. "House, _you_ called _me_. 13 times." You interrupt her, hoping to rile her up a little more. Annoyed Cuddy is entertaining but pissed Cuddy is downright deadly. Even better. "You didn't answer fast enough." She lets go of your arm and you pull her inside. The door shuts with a bang and you push her back against it. She looks up at you with sky blue eyes through dark, heavy lashes. She just doesn't give it up so easily. And it's killing you that she's the only one.

You're close, a dangerous proximity even. But who are you to concede to danger? All her resistance will never make distance enough. So you take another step close. Her expression begins to change. She's not about to be somebody's fool. She tries to move away, as if the scorching heat that is so evidently radiating off of you might burn her. You yank her to and when your bodies press together, the heat is nearly blistering and the kiss is equally so. An unprecedented seduction and you've been hypnotized. You pull back, studying her each and very lovely feature, and you find her more astonishing than any other woman.

She rises up on her tiptoes and your lips connect in another rattling kiss, the electricity crackling between you. She pushes you back to the couch and you pull her down to you, hands at her hips, nearly bruising the skin there. You touch her face and pull her out of her shirt. And you still haven't found a rational reason for this tingling in your fingers nearly every time you touch her. But you're _House_, and she shouldn't be letting you do this. Not here and not now. But every piece of flesh you touch keeps burning and she can't seem to tell you 'no'.

Your lips collide with hers and she meets your kiss again and again. She can't (or maybe doesn't want to) fight what she's feeling. Finally having someone ache for her; it's electrifying. Every time your hands find a new place to touch, she's overwhelmed and silently begs you to continue. And she swears she can almost _hear_ the desire coursing and thundering through your veins.

You touch her like she were your possession, yours and only yours. She can't remember the last time someone touched her this way. Your lips move to her neck, drinking her in, wanting to bury yourself in her skin. It's as if you are the hunter and she is the hunted, a predator and his more-than-willing prey. And maybe now she understands your affinity for the danger. The danger of anyone could find you at any time, and the excitement of the chase but even more the thrill of the capture.

There's a pull deep inside you and you never seem to be able to keep your hands to yourself. At any and every moment they take the opportunity to trail up her skirt or slip beneath her blouse, taking possession of her, skin and all. Her body is a temple and you are the King, ruling over her, quite literally _over_ her, claiming her lips and her eyes and her perfect skin as your own. Always taking possession, as if you have _the right_.

And you must, right? You must have earned it by now. After all that you've been through together, after all that you've _done_. Her hands sneak beneath your shirt and she moves away only long enough to pull it up and over your head. And her lips next to yours make you think that maybe heaven (if it exists) is exactly where she is. All you want is someone you can't get enough of.

Her heart is racing, her breathing is desperate; she's on fire. Your mother always told you never to play with fire, but she is a fire you can't resist. And now there's not even breathing room between pleasure and pain, an acidic sweetness to every kiss. It's like a high you never want to come down from. Like heroine without the pesky needle-pricks.

Your grip is hot on her skin, flaming. The heat mixed with the coldness of the room causes goose bumps to explode across her flesh. Every molecule between you is rumbling, you're reeling and have to remind yourself to breathe.

What you want and what you need have now become the same thing. Do you want to be different? Or open up the wound she left again? Somehow you just couldn't stop yourself, so you just make believe that she's all you'll ever need.

Her touch is lethal and her lips are poison. You run the risk of death every time you touch her. But it's a risk you yearn for. Your mind is overrun and you know all you did not know before. She can't save you. Surely, she'll consume you but you just can't walk away.

Somewhere in the midst of these realizations you've peeled her out of her skirt and for a moment you let yourself drown in the creaminess of her complexion, displayed to you in perfect form. She blushes at the overtness of your gaze and then pulls your lips back to hers.

You kiss her like your life nearly depends on it. Plunging to depths and soaring to heights never before reached by man, a cataclysmic explosion of every emotion possible. Your hands are rough against her impossibly soft skin. You trace delicate patterns across her back and pull her down beneath you.

The rhythm is slow at first, torturously so. It builds and builds, sending you both into a sexual delirium as shapes and colors become incoherent in your mind. She melts against you as you press your mouth to her neck to leave her a "memento" of sorts and snicker into her skin. People never change.

Nikayla

2/24 – 2/28/08  
9:51 pm – 11:23 pm


End file.
